Sympathy for the Icelanders Part V: Thicker than Water
by HaloFin17
Summary: No longer chronological. This episode takes place between parts Two and Three – when Olaf gives Gunnar his jacket back. And this time we're getting inside Olaf's head for his POV. It'll be interesting. Enjoy!


**Summary:** No longer chronological. This episode takes place between parts Two and Three – when Olaf gives Gunnar his jacket back. And this time we're getting inside Olaf's head for his POV. It'll be interesting. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** No ownership, no profit. Never fear.

**Author's Note:** They just won't leave me alone. MD2 has again been my guilty pleasure of late, and those darn Icelanders just keep begging for me to write more with them. So here we are. I know it's been years since I wrote the other installments to this series, so I've probably lost most of my original audience; but the Muse shall not be ignored. Hopefully there's still a handful of readers out there who will find some enjoyment in this very late addition to the Sympathy Series.

**Important Gunnar Quotes to Remember:**

From **Melting Ice**: "Olaf tried to give me a hard time about (the jacket), but I was too tired then to care. And too sore."

From **Frozen Hell**: "My brother is twenty-one. He plays…I believe you call it 'handball'. It's popular in Iceland, and he is very good."

From **All Stars**: "My dad is from Germany, and his whole family still lives there. My older brother does now, as well."

**Sympathy for the Icelanders: Part V**

**Thicker than Water**

I could only blink in confusion for a moment while observing the American goalie's hasty retreat. What the hell had that been about? I unfolded the mound of black fabric that had found its way into my arms and stared in stunned silence once again.

It was one of our team jackets. Did it really belong to Gunnar, like she said? And how the hell had _she_ come by it, regardless of who owned it? But if this was Gunnar's jacket…then the Jr. Goodwill Games had suddenly gotten a _lot_ more interesting.

Gunnar hadn't been in our room last night when I went to bed, nor had I seen him there this morning. In fact, the first time I'd seen him in over twelve hours had been in the locker room before practice this morning. At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it. But maybe there was a real story here? The sort of blackmailing story that a guy's best friend would kill to get his hands on.

With a tight smile of anticipation, I quickly knelt to unzip my equipment bag and stuff the jacket inside. Better to save this discussion for exactly the right moment – preferably _not_ when Gunnar looked ready to keel over from exhaustion.

He hardly said two words to me as we trudged back to the dorms. When we got there, I forced some aspirin into his hand and threw a couple of ice packs into bed ahead of him before he collapsed there and immediately went still.

I stared down at him for a moment, frowning. One-on-one time with Coach was enough to take a toll on any of us; but Gunnar should be more used to it than the rest of us by now, and I'd never seen him look so pitifully run-down from it before. I let him sleep for a couple of hours until it was time to head back to the arena for our match that afternoon.

He still scored two goals in our victory over Italy, and at the team meal afterwards, he put away more food than I think I've ever seen him eat in all the years of our friendship. And then he went right back to bed – again. Not even the time change when we first arrived in Los Angeles had affected him so drastically.

I knew something weird was definitely going on here…but could it have anything to do with the jacket still safely tucked away in my bag?

When eight o'clock rolled around that evening, I decided enough was enough. Gunnar was going to wake up, and he and I were going to have a nice little chat. Besides, I had just witnessed something else that I knew would be of great interest to him; whether or not he would be pleased by my discovery was another matter.

"Gunnar?" I jostled him by the shoulder a little. "Gunnar!"

When he didn't even stir in response, I dug out his jacket, rolled it up, and hit him on the head with it. That woke him. He may not have been the happiest of campers, but at least he was up. He looked about ready to strangle me, until I held the garment in plain sight out in front of him; I could tell by the look on his face the exact instant when he recognized it as his own.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded, snatching at the garment in an uncharacteristic panic.

I let him take it from me and then sat back on my own bed across from him, grinning eagerly. This was going to be even better than I'd hoped!

"So, what's the story, Gunnar?"

"What story?" Now that he had the jacket back in his possession, he looked ready to fall asleep again.

"Uh, the story that you're sleeping like you haven't slept in two days and eating like you haven't eaten in two days. And then that pretty little American goalie shows up at the end of practice this morning to return an article of your clothing that you accidentally left with her." Surely even his overtired mind could piece together those insinuations. "You were busy with Coach, of course, so she gave it to me instead. But please, Gunnar, you can't tell me there isn't _some _kind of story in all that."

He blinked, appearing a little more alert now. "She saw me and Coach out there today?"

"Yep, and she sounded pretty worried about you, too." I waggled my eyebrows at him suggestively, but he clammed up again.

"Come on, why can't you tell me what happened? If it's really something that embarrassing, you'll just make me more determined to find out. I know you either got in very late last night and left very early this morning, or you were never even here at all in that time."

"You're right, I wasn't here," he confessed at last. "I went back to the practice rink for something last night and wound up getting locked in one of the storage rooms."

I couldn't help laughing out loud at that! My best friend is usually much too clever to allow something like that to happen to him. "And where does the American goalie come in?"

He let out a weary sigh and burrowed his face back into his pillow. "The same thing happened to her; she came looking for something and ended up being stuck right there with me. It gets really cold in that room at night, so I gave her my jacket; guess I forgot to get it back."

"What a gentleman you are. And to thank you, did she give you that big bruise on your shoulder?" I couldn't help noticing that in the locker room this morning – before he'd had his special training session with Coach.

"No, that was from one of her teammates, who got there just before the door would have unlocked automatically. I don't think he appreciated finding us together like that."

"Together like what?"

Suddenly he hesitated, and I knew at once that I was on to something big. I felt a devilish idea creep into my head, and an equally devilish smile crept onto my face.

"Gunnar, if you don't tell me more about what happened last night, I swear I'll tell Mikael everything I do know. Between the two of us, we'll get the whole juicy story out of you."

The threat didn't budge him. "Go ahead," he mumbled. "By the time you actually see him again, you'll have forgotten all about it."

"He's here, you know."

That got my friend to raise his head, just as I'd known it would. Even half asleep, he looked torn between perturbation and surprise.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"What?" I teased him. "You don't believe your own brother would fly halfway around the world to come watch you play?"

"Not _my_ brother; besides, our parents aren't even here. Why should he come? It's not like he cares that much."

"After all that time he spent pushing us around on the ice when we were younger? I'm sure he'd want us do well now."

Gunnar relaxed again, yawning. "Yeah, but that's a big difference from actually flying all the way to Los Angeles from Germany. That would be a ridiculous trip for anyone to make."

I've always preferred actions to words; so instead of arguing with him further, I simply got up and strode with determination to Wolf's office. If Mikael Stahl wasn't still there, where I'd first seen him less than an hour ago, then Coach would likely know where I could find him.

But they were both still there, quietly conversing. I could tell the air between them was polite, but hardly as pleasant as you might expect for a coach welcoming one of his finest students from years past.

Both men looked up when I reached the doorway, and the younger's eyes immediately brightened with recognition as he smiled at me in greeting. Warm blue eyes identical to Gunnar's.

"Olaf."

I reached out with enthusiasm to shake his hand, smiling in turn. "Mikael, you bastard, I didn't expect you to turn up."

He laughed, far too accustomed to my baiting him to be offended. "I'm just here to see the sights…and maybe catch a hockey match or two while I'm in town."

"It's too bad we can't get you to play in one," Coach said sternly.

But not wanting to be stuck in the middle of _that _particular conversation, I quickly cleared my throat and gestured out the door with my head. "Come on. Gunnar doesn't believe you're here, and I say we give him a rude awakening."

Mikael nodded, offered a quick goodbye to Stansson, and joined me.

"Where is he?" he asked, looking over my shoulder as though he expected to find his brother just standing there.

"Sleeping."

"Already?"

"He's _been _asleep ever since we got back from our game."

"I guess you mean a literal 'rude awakening,' then." He chuckled before adding, with empathy, "It sounds like Wolf hasn't gotten any softer since I played for him."

"Not at all." There wasn't much humor in my laugh that time.

"I see you finally caught up with me," he noted as we walked along, and I knew he was making a reference to my height, which was now at least equal to his own.

"I always said I would be taller than you someday," I reminded him. "But I'm starting to think Gunnar's doomed to stay shorter than both of us for the rest of his life."

Some of my other teammates also stopped over to greet Mikael when they saw us walking by. At least half a dozen other boys here have played with Gunnar before at some point over the years, and they knew his older brother moderately well.

But soon enough we arrived back at the newly unconscious person who tied us all together. He still had the jacket clutched tightly in one hand, tucked up under his chin like a child with a favorite blanket.

Mikael studied his sibling for a long moment, then remarked, "That's got to be one of the most pathetic things I've ever seen. How do you want me to wake him up?"

"Well, I hit him over the head earlier, so maybe now you could try sitting on him?" I suggested with a smirk. "I remember that always worked very well."

So without further preamble, Mikael sat down hard on Gunnar's legs, shouting, "Rise and shine, little brother!"

The younger Stahl jolted awake at once, fighting to extricate his limbs from whatever had so rudely disturbed his rest. Once his bleary eyes had focused on our new visitor, he made a face and swore unashamedly. "Mikael? What the hell are you doing here?"

I spoke first, "I told you he was here, but did you believe me? Oh, no. Now don't you feel like an idiot?"

His brother, meanwhile, pretended to look hurt. "What's wrong, can't I just stop by when I'm in the area? And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

But Gunnar really did look hurt, almost pouting. "You mean we can hardly get you home to Reykjavik for Christmas, but you'll come all this way to Los Angeles just to pop in and say hello?"

Mikael shrugged. "This way I can make a vacation out of it. When else will I ever have the excuse to visit California?"

His look of unassuming innocence was well-practiced, and it's times like this when I wonder if Mikael's had more of an influence over me than I realize. He's the closest thing I have to an older sibling, considering there are only two annoying little sisters waiting for me back home. I'm sure I've had as much fun aggravating them as Mikael has had making Gunnar's and my life miserable on multiple occasions.

My older friend easily deflected the pillow that had been hurled at his head in anger and then leaned back against the wall. Gunnar, who was still seriously annoyed, stretched his legs back out and put his feet in Mikael's lap, as though just to get in the last word. I took a seat on the floor next to the bed, pulling up my legs and resting my arms across my knees. And right then, the déjà vu hit me hard.

The three of us had spent a lot of time together, just like this, over the years, never mind that we were now sitting in Los Angeles. For me, it was relatively easy to forget that Mikael no longer lived in Iceland; but I don't think the same could be said for Gunnar. He and Mikael have never been particularly close, but they are brothers. And blood will always be thicker than water.

"You know," Mikael said suddenly, "I bumped into one of the players from the American hockey team on my way over here – a big guy with short dark hair. I have to say, it doesn't sound like you kids have been making any friends in your time here."

"And it's only going to get worse," I promised darkly. "Just wait until the Championship."

Gunnar voiced his sleep-addled thoughts. "They've been looking better lately. I think it will be a tough match, but Coach will make sure we're ready for them."

"Oh, yes. Wolf would never let his team go unprepared into a game like that. Has he been drilling you too hard in practice, and that's why you're dead tired, little brother?"

My friend sent a worried glance my way, begging me to keep silent on the matter, before cautiously replying, "Something like that, yeah."

"Coach kept him late after our team practice this morning, and then we had a game this afternoon. It's been a long day for everyone." But being helpful, even to your lifelong best friend, can only be so much fun, so I ventured, "And now, Gunnar, do you want to reconsider what we were talking about earlier? Before your brother kindly woke you back up for me?"

He knew exactly what I was talking about and glared at me – but he gave in with a tired nod. I grinned back, broad and victorious.

Mikael didn't question that exchange, but he finally excused himself a few minutes later, probably heading out for a night that those of us under the age of twenty-one could not legally enjoy. It had been good to see him, and I hoped to do so again. But at the moment, I was far more interested in hearing about the rest of Gunnar's exploits with that pretty American goalie.

**Author's End Note: **If you found this one entertaining, stay tuned. I'm also working on Sympathy installment Part VI, which delves deeper into Mikael's character. I'm having a lot of fun with him, though the material has been slower coming together. See you there!


End file.
